


Come Again?

by viklikesfic (v_angelique)



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: AU, BDSM, Kink, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-11-11
Updated: 2007-11-11
Packaged: 2017-10-05 09:44:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/40321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/v_angelique/pseuds/viklikesfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I'm sitting on an airplane finishing this and trying to angle the screen away from others because I was determined to get it posted by the deadline.  I don't know where it came from, except that I was thinking about my lyrics and I decided to write something about a misunderstanding or some sort of disingenuousness and this is what I came up with.  An AU wherein Elijah and Orlando work in a preppy clothing store in a mall in southern California in the 1990s, and kinky sex somehow occurs.  Do I have a khaki fetish?  I just might.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come Again?

"How long have you been in California?" Elijah asked, folding the shirt in his hands and stacking it neatly on the fanned-out display. Arm, arm, half, check collar, rinse, repeat.

"Only a year."

"Are you an aspiring actor?" he prodded, just managing to keep any irony out of his voice. He was so sick of this job, and of the new people that came in every week, it seemed. At least he knew he didn't have shit chance in acting. He'd been here two years for "work experience," hoping that he'd be able to do something other than retail one day and make enough money to buy a nicer car.

"No."

Elijah frowned, waiting for some elaboration. Californians loved to talk. _Wait for it, wait for it… okay, maybe not._

"Where are you from?"

"Canterbury."

"Like the cathedral?"

"Yes."

Orlando walked away, abruptly, and Elijah was about to get angry until he realised the young man was returning with another rack of shirts for them to fold.

"So… it's kind of shit wearing this stuff every day, but you'll get used to it."

Orlando looked up, raising an eyebrow. "I suppose."

"Oh, you don't… did you shop here before you got the job? I'm sorry. I didn't mean…"

Orlando moved on to straightening the teal and chartreuse ties a few feet down, and Elijah gave up.

 

~*~

 

"Fancy seeing you here," Orlando said, not bothering to feign actual pleasure.

Elijah frowned. He didn't like socializing with the sales associates outside of work; he wasn't being paid and he had better things to do. Still, a teeny prick of curiosity wedged its way into his jeans at the fact that Orlando was here, at a gay bar.

"Can I buy you a drink?" Orlando tried, and Elijah nodded, holding up his almost-empty bottle of Bud.

"I figured you were queer," Orlando said after they each had a beer, and Elijah looked at him very suspiciously. "I didn't really peg you for the sort that would be at _this_ type of pub, though."

Elijah took a swallow and considered ignoring him. This guy was driving him crazy, much too quickly. "What's it to you? You're here."

"Yes," Orlando agreed. "I am."

"Look," Elijah said brusquely, turning towards the bar. "You're not what I'm looking for. Sorry."

Orlando laughed. "You assume you're what_ I'm_ looking for? Wait, let me guess. Trying to find a rougher bloke, someone to get you to your knees and treat you a little less politely than you have to treat everyone else. Want to hurt a little, is that it?"

Elijah snarled, though everything Orlando was saying was dead on. He still didn't have to fucking admit it. "You're fucking rude."

"I'm right."

"Even if you _were_ right," Elijah argued, cursing himself for giving that little bit, "it doesn't change the fact that you don't fit that description _at all._"

And it was true; he didn't. Elijah wore jeans and a pale blue polo shirt, which granted wasn't the grungiest look ever but it kept him pretty and preppy enough for the kind of guys who wanted someone who looked a little young, appeared innocent. Orlando, however, took preppy to a whole new level, even for 1997. He wore khakis and a white dress shirt, which by themselves would be fine, but paired with an argyle vest in shades of brown, green, and pastel pink, he looked like he had stepped out of one of the advertisements for the store where they worked. No, not Elijah's type at all.

Orlando laughed and took another pull from his beer. "The clothes, no."

"You're not really trying to tell me that you're a top?" Elijah hissed, almost too quiet to even be heard. Orlando didn't turn or look at him, but he did answer.

"I don't need to try, pretty boy."

"I could have you fired," Elijah growled, snapping his fingers. "Like that."

"Sure you could," Orlando said with a shrug. "But I could also have you face down on this bar right here, outlining the punishments you're going to get for being such a cheeky little brat, and you're more curious about that scenario than the first, aren't you?"

_I hate him_, Elijah snarled mentally. He took another sip of his beer and scanned the bar, looking for someone even remotely more interesting to go chat up.

"I'll wait at the park down the street for exactly fifteen minutes, then the offer expires."

_Fuck._

 

~*~

 

Orlando smirked, and Elijah wanted to punch him. Maybe if he just closed his eyes, he could pretend that the man was ten years older and had facial hair and a biker jacket on, instead of that _ridiculous_ vest.

"You know what pisses me off?"

"No," Elijah replied. "And I don't particularly want to."

"Insolent _schoolboys_," Orlando hissed, grabbing Elijah rather effectively by the back of his neck and pushing him forehead-first into a tree before he really registered what was going on, "who can't just be fucking genuine."

"What the hell is your problem?"

"Right now, you. Your lies are so fucking typical that they're boring me to tears."

"I haven't lied to you," Elijah argued, biting his lip when Orlando pushed up against him from behind.

"Number one," he said coolly, pushing a finger against Elijah's lip, "you've been trying to convince me that you don't want this. Number two," – a second finger – "you bullshit customers all fucking day, which believe it or not isn't really an appreciated sales technique. And number three," – three fingers pushing their way past Elijah's lips and into his reluctantly-opening mouth, "You can't just admit that what you really want is to be on your knees in the fucking mud, begging to suck my prick."

Elijah snorted and pulled his head back enough to get Orlando's fingers out of his mouth. "You give yourself too much credit."

"Oh I'm not the right type, is that it?"

"Big fucking part of it," Elijah agreed.

"Well perhaps you should consider that you don't know _shit_ about me, then," Orlando suggested, turning him around and pressing his back against the tree, their lips a few inches apart. He really was intimidating, being so fucking tall, and Elijah hated that. His dick, quite unfortunately, didn't agree. "You haven't given me the slightest inclination that you're worth my time, Elijah, and we both know you want it because here you are, and I don't see you screaming for help."

"Go to hell," Elijah spat.

"Fine," Orlando replied with a shrug, letting go and walking away. Elijah let him get almost to the path before he ran after him.

"Hey wait!" he called. "Why don't you at least tell me… I mean what are you… what's your 'offer,' anyway?" he asked. "Can we work out a deal, maybe?"

Orlando laughed. "A deal? Not only are you a mouthy sub, but a stupid one, too. Brilliant."

"I'm not…"

Orlando moved forward as if to start walking again, and Elijah shut up, frowning.

"It's an all or nothing deal, sweetheart. And it's going to start with a long list of your transgressions, right here, on your knees. Safeword?"

Elijah glared at him. Of course. Of course he fucking knew what he was doing, and Elijah was so god damned precariously on the edge here, about ready to walk away, but Orlando could see that edge and he was skirting it and he refused to back down. He wasn't afraid of rejection, which meant that Elijah somehow had to appropriate that fear himself. Fucking prick.

"Snickers bar," Elijah replied, and then lowered himself gingerly to his knees in the wet grass, scowling when the loamy soil underneath gave way. "I've been impolite," he admitted, though he really fucking hated telling the man what he'd done wrong. Sure, he wouldn't mind sucking Orlando's cock, or getting fucked, or even getting spanked, but this was a little different. This was personal.

Orlando just laughed at Elijah's statement, however, and rested the toe of his boot - _well, at least he isn't wearing loafers_ \- on the top of Elijah's left knee, his hand reaching to Elijah's chin and stroking the bit of a goatee Elijah had been trying to grow with his thumb. "I don't give a fuck about how you've been impolite. Try again, and keep your eyes down."

"I… fine. I haven't been… genuine, then," Elijah amended, staring at Orlando's boot.

"Better," Orlando replied, his tone neutral bordering on harsh. "Elaborate."

"I… put up a front at work, I guess. To make people happy."

"What else?"

"I sell these stupid clothes that I hate, and tell people they look good in them."

Orlando snickered. "Don't think I look good in them?"

"Should I answer that?"

"Go ahead."

"I think you'd look better in leather pants and a tight t-shirt," Elijah replied, looking up with a little grin.

Orlando raised an eyebrow and then put his hand on the top of Elijah's head, forcing it down again. "That's sir to you, pet. At least I'm not putting on airs about it. I like the way khaki trousers feel against my cock."

Elijah gulped. "Are you not wearing underwear, sir?" he asked, suddenly obedient.

"Wouldn't you like to know? Stand. Follow me, at least five paces behind. Think about what else you need to apologise for."

Elijah frowned and got to his feet, following Orlando, who'd already started walking towards the path. He really didn't like this elementary school-style dictating his own punishment technique, but he was invested enough now to want it just for curiosity's sake, and unfortunately intrigued by the way Orlando's tongue curled around the word "pet" and how his boot caressed Elijah's knee.

When Orlando finally stopped abruptly, Elijah looked up and whistled at the car parked alongside the curb. It was a late model BMW, navy finish, and even prettier than the cocky dominant who owned it.

"Did I say you could look up?" Orlando asked sharply.

Elijah frowned and returned his eyes to his sneakers. "I couldn't walk without looking up," he reasoned. "Might've tripped."

"One," Orlando replied, leaning casually against the side of the Beemer and crossing his arms over his chest, "no sulking and no excuses. I point out a fault and you say 'I'm sorry, sir, I'll try to do better next time.' I don't care _why_ you did it. I care that it won't happen again. Two. You're obviously not very experienced if you really think it's impossible to walk with your eyes focused on the ground." Elijah frowned at the slight to his abilities, but didn't say anything. "This doesn't work if you don't trust me, and I think you know that. I would've told you if you were liable to trip over anything. Now, three. Get the fuck in the car."

Elijah sighed and walked around towards the passenger seat as Orlando clicked a button on his key ring to unlock the doors.

"In the back," Orlando corrected him.

"What? Why?"

"Because as of yet," Orlando said with a challenging stare, showing Elijah that yet again he'd raised his eyes without even thinking about it, "you haven't proven that you're anything more than a child or a recalcitrant pet, Elijah. Unless the idea of a leash is appealing to you, I'd suggest you amend your actions."

Elijah frowned, though the word "leash" certainly made his cock stir, and opened the back door, climbing in.

"You may continue your list now. Actually," Orlando amended as he pulled away from the curb, "Start from the beginning."

"Beginning?"

"Yes. Is there a problem?"

"Um… no, sir."

"Good. Go on."

"All right," Elijah sighed. "I lie at work to make people feel good. I sell clothes even though I don't like them."

"That's a very short list, boy. Continue, please."

"I… snapped at you in the bar."

"And?"

"I doubted that you could give me what I wanted."

"Poor phrasing. Give you what you _needed_, pet. What you want isn't my problem. And?"

Elijah frowned again but didn't comment. "I… cursed at you?"

"Cursed at me what?"

"Sorry?"

"Cursed at me, _what_?"

"Oh. I cursed at you, _sir_."

"You did," Orlando agreed. "Very naughty of you. But I don't mind curse words. Try to be a bit more general, pet."

"I talked back, sir?"

"Yes, and?"

"Was sarcastic?"

"I'm not sure I follow why that's a _question_, Elijah."

"I was sarcastic, sir."

"Better. How long have you been doing this?"

"Subbing?"

"Yes."

"Few years, give or take. Just general kinky shit, since I was sixteen. But formally a few years."

"Then perhaps, Elijah, you have a few more things to be apologising for."

"I… I don't understand."

"Think about what's wrong with that sentence."

"Oh. I'm sorry for forgetting how to address you then, sir."

"And why do you address me that way, Elijah?"

"Because those are the rules?"

"Yes, but _why_ are they the rules?"

"I… I don't know, sir."

"You haven't been taught very well, then. No wonder you have no respect for the rules, if you don't understand them."

"I'm… sorry, sir?"

"Don't apologize," Orlando countered. "You apologize when you've done something wrong, and you _do_ apologize then. Not when someone else made an omission in your training and you don't know any better."

"Are you going to explain it to me then, sir?"

Orlando smiled in the rearview and pulled to a stop at the traffic light. "You use 'sir' to address me because it communicates respect. Because it reminds _you_ who's in charge. I don't need that reminder," he added. "Now what other errors have you made tonight?"

"I didn't admit that I wanted you."

"Yes," Orlando agreed.

"I kept looking up."

"Keep," Orlando corrected, meeting Elijah's eyes in the mirror. "Still haven't told you that you can look at me."

"Oh." Elijah lowered his eyes to the leather seat. "Sorry, sir."

"You're doing better," Orlando observed. "Marginally. And do you know _why_ you're doing better, Elijah?"

"Because I'm learning?" Elijah replied, unable to keep a hint of sarcasm out of his voice.

"Not in the slightest. Because you've figured out that I have something you want. You're like one of Pavlov's dogs… maybe I_ should_ put a leash on you. Ring a bell while I fuck you till you have an orgasm every time your doorbell rings," he smirked.

Elijah bit his tongue.

"We're almost there," Orlando informed him. "Tell me why I should let you into my home. Tell me why I shouldn't just leave you here and let you think about your actions."

Elijah frowned. "Because you want to teach me something, Sir."

"Do I?"

"I think you do, Sir. Maybe I'm not the perfect obedient sub, but at least I'm honest."

"You are that," Orlando agreed. "What do you like?"

"Sorry?"

"What do you _like_, Elijah?"

"I… um…"

"Pain?" Orlando prompted.

"Some. Spanking and stuff."

"And?"

"I like…" Elijah blushed cherry red, and Orlando clucked his tongue.

"_Say_ it."

"I like… humiliation. I like being shamed. I like it and I hate it, I mean, I can't… it's too hard to…" Elijah struggled with his words, squirming a bit, as the car pulled to a stop. He hadn't meant to admit this much, this early, but there it was on the table.

"It's a catharsis," Orlando said, and Elijah nodded, staring at his own thighs.

"I guess."

"But you don't want to let go."

"I don't…"

"Shut up."

Elijah shut his mouth promptly. Orlando got out of the car, opened Elijah's door, and bent down to see inside, grabbing Elijah by the chin and forcing Elijah to look at him. "Your safeword is 'Snickers bar.' I won't forget it, but you might need it. Are you coming?"

Elijah couldn't help the smirk this time. "I hope so."

 

By the time Orlando had him tied to a leather spanking bench, legs splayed and helplessly vulnerable, Elijah was beginning to wonder if he should regret his decision to come here tonight.

"So much damage I could do to you, mon petit," Orlando murmured, circling the bench for the seventh or eighth time. Elijah could feel Orlando's eyes on him, drinking in his image, and he felt uncomfortable in a way he didn't when people looked at him at work, in a dance club, on the street. He was vain enough to know people _did_ look at him, but it wasn't like this. He didn't feel quite so special now.

"Please," he whispered, uncertain what he was begging for. They'd bandied about words at first, foregoing the house tour for Orlando shoving him against the refrigerator, some hard biting with Elijah bent over the dining room table, and a slap across the face that left him blushing and aroused on the landing. Downstairs now though, in the basement playroom, and Orlando was all business. Elijah wasn't feeling the need to struggle quite so acutely – Orlando, at least, was earning his respect – but he wished there was a little more talking and a little less staring at his body.

"Tell me what you want," Orlando said, his voice hard.

"I… I'm not sure."

"Then no."

Elijah frowned and went silent again, closing his eyes and trying to pretend he was just at a massage parlour or a tanning bed waiting for someone to come tend to him. Except for the fact that he was so obviously _not_.

"Pretty boy," Orlando slurred in a deprecating tone, smoothing one hand along Elijah's flank. "You know what a pretty boy you are. Can you do anything, though? Have any talents?"

"Just… the usual things, sir."

"The usual things," Orlando snorted. "And why the _fuck_ do I want a boy at my feet who can only do the _usual_ things? What's the appeal in that?"

"I… not sure, sir."

"Not sure. That's right, because there _isn't any._ You're wasting my time, boy." Orlando turned and walked away from the bench, and Elijah started, whimpering lightly.

"Please, sir," he begged. "Don't go."

"And why the hell not?"

"I… teach me, please," he tried. "Teach me to be talented?"

"Why should I do that?" Orlando asked, returning with a leather strap in his hand and passing it under Elijah's chin, holding both ends and tugging sharply up so that Elijah's head jerked up to meet Orlando's eyes. "Why are you worth my time?"

"I'll… try very hard, sir," Elijah tried. "I've been told I look pretty after a beating," he added, lowering his lashes.

"Look pretty after a beating, do you? Think that's _unusual_ for a sub?"

Elijah sighed, frustrated, but Orlando wouldn't let his head down. "_Please._"

"Pathetic," Orlando spat out.

"_Please_, sir, please, anything…"

"Anything?" Orlando laughed, abruptly letting Elijah's head drop. "It's only inexperienced boys who ask for anything, pet. You don't make that mistake twice." Elijah shivered, and it wasn't quite relief when the leather came down hard on his arse for the first blow. He jumped against his restraints before he settled, and then there was another one immediately after. "Do you at least know how to count, boy? Have you learnt that?"

"Yes, sir," Elijah replied. He'd had older men flog him, men who liked things formal. When the next blow hit him, a "three, sir," fell from his lips, followed by a "thank you. May I please have another?"

"You may," Orlando agreed, smacking him twice in quick succession on the backs of the thighs.

"Four and five, sir, thank you. May I have another?"

It was seventeen before Elijah faltered after the "thank you," and Orlando predictably smirked. "Done, boy?"

"I… just a little tired, sir," he answered honestly.

"Aw, is baby tired?" Orlando cooed. "Does baby need a _fucking_," _smack_, "blankie?" _Smack._ Elijah cried out, and then murmured an "eighteen," "nineteen," and "thank you, sir."

After twenty, Orlando dropped the leather and pressed his palm to Elijah's arse. He couldn't help the whimpering moan that escaped, and he rubbed his cheek against the leather without thinking, deep in his headspace now. His arse felt warm but there was no severe pain. Orlando hadn't even been hitting _that_ hard, but he was out of practice.

"Slut," Orlando whispered in Elijah's ear, bent half-over, after another moan. Working methodically in small circles on both cheeks, Orlando started poking and rubbing at the pink marks, working over the sore skin until Elijah was begging to be fucked. Orlando laughed and walked away again. When he returned, there was a long black nightstick in his hand, and Elijah shuddered hard as Orlando pressed it against his lips. "Indiscriminating slut like you should love sucking my toys," he said harshly, fisting his hand hard in Elijah's hair and immediately dictating the pace. He kept Elijah's head still for the most part and just thrust the thick black rod inside, a little more each time, until Elijah was readying himself for the first intrusion of his throat.

"I like having a slut get my toys nice and wet before I beat him with them," Orlando explained coolly, not relenting in his pace. Elijah whimpered around the length of unyielding material in his throat, and Orlando just pushed further.

"Like that, do you?" he murmured, pushing his knee against one reddened cheek. "You're hard, Elijah. You can't hide that from me."

Elijah made another noise, and after a few more little thrusts Orlando removed the stick from his mouth and brushed his cheek with the end of it, leaving a trail of saliva.

"Not even sure you _can_ be taught," Orlando said as he suddenly started tapping Elijah's arse with the nightstick, not hard at all but enough to make him tense in anticipation of more. "Don't know that a slut like you can learn to please me."

"Please," Elijah murmured, feeling the blows come down with less of a pause in between, a little harder.

"No. You don't fucking deserve it. I could come on your cute little freshly beaten arse, but I don't think I will. I think it'd give a brat like you an attitude problem. Little corporate whore."

"I…" Elijah broke off in a whinge, for he couldn't really deny it. Orlando laughed above him and the blows came down harder and faster. He knew in the back of his mind that if Orlando were really hitting as hard as he could with a weapon like this, he'd be doing serious damage, but despite the intellectual knowledge that Orlando was probably only using half his strength right now it hurt like a bitch and he still could feel himself breaking.

"Please, sir," he gasped, nearly voiceless.

"Please _what_, slut?"

"Please let me serve you," Elijah begged, though he wasn't entirely sure where the specific request came from. "Please, please let me, I'm so sorry, so, so sorry, I didn't… I didn't want…"

Elijah was choking on his sobs, and though Orlando told him insistently to "shut _up_," the blows slowed back down until he was barely tapping Elijah's arse. Orlando's hand smoothed over Elijah's back and his lips brushed the back of Elijah's neck in the phantom of a kiss. "Come," he whispered, and Elijah let out a pained cry as he did just that. He hadn't even noticed that he was close, and now he flushed bright red as he spilled all over the leather bench.

"Shhhh," Orlando cooed after a moment, and Elijah realized with another flush of shame that he was crying, and not just crying but sobbing, his whole body shaking against the bench. "That's a good boy… such a good boy for me. It's all right," he murmured. "It's over."

Elijah made an involuntary noise in response – a non-verbal plea, perhaps, for it _not_ to be over, but Orlando just untied him and pulled him to the floor, into Orlando's arms, rocking him gently.

"Good boy, good boy…"

"No!" Elijah suddenly gasped, and Orlando stroked his hair gently to calm him.

"No what?"

"Not a good boy… not…"

"You _are_ a good boy," Orlando objected, firmly "Very good. Perfect for me, even though you are a cheeky, bratty little sub."

"But…"

"I can handle you," Orlando said. "Did you think I couldn't?"

"I… at first," Elijah admitted, embarrassed.

"It's okay," Orlando murmured with a smile. "I know. It's over now. You did wonderfully. You got what you needed and now you're free not to feel shame anymore, petit. Until next time," he added with an eyebrow raised. "Don't worry, my pet. You can be taught." Elijah whimpered and burrowed closer, and Orlando didn't let go.

 

~*~

 

"I have a confession to make," Orlando admitted several weeks later as he spanked Elijah in an endless rhythmic pattern – left, left, right, slow, fast, hard – "I don't normally dress like this."

"You don't, sir?" Elijah squeaked, out of breath and writhing with his cock trapped between Orlando's khaki-clad thighs.

"No," Orlando agreed casually, continuing without breaking a sweat. "I prefer silk, leather, eyeliner on occasion. I usually have a goatee…"

Elijah let out a moan and Orlando laughed as he kept spanking him.

"I kept seeing you at the pub, always going home with these rougher blokes. I knew what you wanted, but I knew those men and I knew they weren't giving you that, nor what you _needed._ Were they, Elijah?"

Elijah shook his head frantically and let out a pained whimper when Orlando finally let up and switched to pinching his bottom instead, taking little bits of pink flesh and squeezing them hard between his fingers.

"So I did a bit of detective work and applied for the job at the mall. Didn't you ever wonder why a bloke working for seven dollars an hour drives a BMW?"

"I didn't... think it was polite to ask, sir," Elijah gasped.

"No? And do you think it's polite to take eight inches up your bum and still beg for more? You think your mother would approve of that, you little cockwhore?"

"I… no," Elijah replied quickly, ever repentant in this state. At work, still, he joked and teased and was snarky with Orlando, but in the basement it was all business.

"Well I do like the way these feel against my cock," Orlando admitted. "But I bought them just for you."

"Oh," Elijah replied in a half-moan. _Oh._

 

~*~

 

"Fuck," Elijah gasped in spite of himself, going to his knees without being told and clasping his hands behind his back as Orlando emerged from the bedroom. Not only had Orlando left the job at the mall, but Elijah had, too, and they were living together. He'd never been anyone's full-time sub, and he loved it. "You should've dressed like that all along, sir. Would've bent over for you right away."

"Yes," Orlando agreed with a laugh, "but you never would have hired me."

"Not to work in a _clothing_ store," Elijah agreed, humming happily when Orlando took him by the back of the head and rubbed his face against a leather-encased erection.

"Cheeky brat. Been a while since I had these trousers cleaned," Orlando said, smirking as he stroked the back of Elijah's head. "Help me out with that and _maybe_ I'll get the nightstick out and fuck you over the spanking bench with it. Gag you with my pants, would you like that?"

Elijah just moaned and started thoroughly bathing the leather with his tongue. Orlando smiled, stroked his hair, and didn't bother correcting him. A reply, after all, really wasn't necessary.


End file.
